Someone Like You
by Breathlessly
Summary: The only thing stopping the witty Jew and cunning Nazi from falling in love is themselves. Kyman, Cartman/Kyle. Rated M for later chapters. *OBVIOUSLY ON HIATUS*
1. Buffet in Heaven

_**A/N:** I don't own anything other than the plot. _

_I actually got off of my lazy butt and edited the story again..It might not be on hiatus anymore! (yahoo)_

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><p><strong>1-Buffet in Heaven<strong>

My hand trembles as I dial his number into my cell phone.

Why do I even try? I can't call him! He'll have more of an advantage over me than he already does. He's nothing more than an egotistical brute that wants nothing more than my pain.

And I love him for it.

Shivering, I drop my phone into my wool jacket pocket. To hell with that. I'm not calling him. I can't give him that satisfaction. I can't let him win.

As I walk down the road, I notice there is no one to be seen. It's as if I was alone, and South Park was my own little world, where I'm left alone to think about my sworn enemy. Whom I happen to love.

I break down in front of the rhinoplasty office and start to sob. I just can't take it anymore! Being in love with that fat bastard is a curse. He was put on earth to make it my own personal hell. Just thinking about him makes my heart race. I want to feel the softness of his brown hair, his deep brown eyes piercing mine's. I just want him. I just want him to be mine.

"What the fuck, Jew? Are you...crying?"

Speak of the devil.

Speak of the fucking devil.

I look up and see him in all his glory. He's wearing dark blue jeans that complement his slightly chunky figure. He also put on his signature oversized red jacket. I notice he has his favourite yellow puffball hat on. It's slightly shifted off his head and I see some of his bronze hair sticking out. I feel the urge to run my fingers through it and look away.

After a couple awkward minutes have passed I remember he had asked me a question. Okay Kyle, I think to myself. He wants you to make a fool of yourself. Don't give him the pride he so desperately wants.

"N-n-no." I say, shakily wiping snot of my face with my sleeve.

_No? Seriously Kyle? So __fucking witty._

My brunet haired enemy just smirks at my jittery response.

"Are you sure Kahl?" He says. I just don't get it. When he used to say my name like that I only felt annoyance. Now there's something that wasn't there before. _Butterflies._

"'Cause there are tears running down your face and everything." He continues, obviously pleased with himself for making me so nervous.

That dumbass.

If only he knew.

"Kahl?" He lowers his self to my level so he can see my face. His eyes are too much. I can't take it. "Kahl, you look a little sick." His voice gets a little higher, and if I'm not mistaken an actual look of concern is spread across his face.

"Kahl? Kahl! Can you hear me?" He's yelling at me now. The intensity of his glare was too much; my eyelids are closing and my heartbeat is finally slowing down.

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><p>I'm awakened by the smell of bacon.<p>

It's an unusual smell since at my home we only eat kosher foods. This can mean only two things.

One, I'm just in time for breakfast at a stranger's house. Two, I've died and there's a buffet in heaven.

I quickly open my eyes and take in my surroundings.

The walls are painted a dark purple. There is a blue 'Cow Days' banner pinned on the wall. On the opposite side there is a red banner with 'CARTMAN' printed on it. There is also a poster of Mel Gibson hanging over the bed.

I cannot believe it. The fatass carried me to his house.

Why would he help me?

It is totally unlike Cartman to help anyone, never mind a "snotty nose Jew rat" like me. Not to mention that his house is a good seven blocks away from the rhinoplasty office where I fainted.

So why would he do it?

I turn my attention back to the delicious smell coming from the kitchen and push myself of off the plush bed and start to head down the stairs.

Well, maybe he can answer that one himself.


	2. Kosher Bacon on a Colorado Mornin'

_**A/N:** I don't own anything but the plot. Don't sue me._

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><p><strong>2- Kosher Bacon on a Colorado Mornin'<strong>_**  
><strong>_

As I pour maple syrup on my whole wheat pancakes I silently curse to myself._ Whole wheat is fucking disgusting. This is why you can't send your mom out to get the groceries_.

I take two plates down from the china cabinet. I figure Kyle will be staying for breakfast. Even if I said he couldn't, he would probably find some way to get some of my awesome food. He's just so manipulative that way. Always messing with me and using his Jew charm to make everyone believe that he's the innocent one. Stupid ginger freak. I hate him.

I hear footsteps coming down the stairs and I smile to myself. Ah, the questioning begins...

"Why'd you do it?

...Now.

I turn away from the stove and face my little unexpected houseguest. I decide to play innocent.

"Whatever do you mean Kahl?" l say, trying not to laugh.

Kyle isn't very patient today. "Don't give me that crap, fat ass!" He snaps at me. "Tell me why you did it!"

"AY! I'm not fat, you stupid day walker!" I spit, furiously. He knows I'm right. In eight grade, I started gradually losing weight and putting on muscle. Now that we're in eleventh grade, I've just lost all my stubborn baby fat. I'm totally hot and Kyle knows it, but I get the feeling he's not in the mood to be admitting anything today.

Kyle lets out a exasperated sigh. "Cartman, I'm getting tired of this. Can you just tell me why you helped me? Please?" He says, gently. Apparently he's backing down. Not good enough.

I shake my head. "Not until you tell me how smoking hot I am." I take the bacon strips off of the stove and place them on my plate. When I turn back around I see Kyle's expression. He's frozen in place. His face is pale and he looks as if he's seen a ghost. Sweet.

"Now, now Kyle don't get all bashful on me" I purr, getting really close to his skinny frame. "Just tell the truth."

He immediately un-freezes and backs into the kitchen wall. He is completely and utterly terrified. I almost want to break character and burst out laughing but no- I want to see how far I can go with this game.

"C'mon Kahl, just say it and I'll tell you anything you want." I brush one of his soft, red locks behind his ear. He shivers and his breaths start getting faster and shorter. I can practically hear his heart bursting out of his chest.

"Jesus Christ, what's wrong with you?" I back away from him, surprised by his reaction. He is still pale but his heart is slowing down.

"N-n-nothing!" He says, stumbling over his words. "I'm f-fine."

"O-Kay." I roll my eyes and turn back to the stove. "Well I know you're all about that kosher shit so I got you some kind of kosher bacon. It's actually..." I stopped, talking when I turned around to a surprising sight. Kyle was...leaving?

"Well where the fuck do you think you're going Jew?" I slam my spatula on the granite counter.

Kyle jumps, obviously startled by my outburst. "I...I have to go...My mom..." He mumbled, looking down at his sneakers.

I look at him with a look of disbelief for a few minutes but then I turn around. "Why are you still standing here with the door open? You're letting in all the cool air!" I said, half-heartedly wiping up milk from my island counter.

And without another word, the door slams shut.

I don't need his Jew germs infecting my precious breakfast time anyways.

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><p><em>I know. I'll make the next chapter a bit longer.<em>

**•Breathlessly•**


	3. Graph Paper and a Found Bubalah

_**A/N:**_ _If I owned South Park I would SO cater to all you fangirls and fanboys. But I don't._

_*****Le SIGH*****_

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><p><strong>3-Graph Paper and a Found Bubalah<strong>

Was Cartman...flirting with me? No it couldn't be. He was just messing with me. But the way he pushed my hair behind my ear...

And I kind of liked how I was under Cartman's power. To be honest it was pretty...exhilarating. To hear him demand for me to meet his every whim..._hmm, that would be sexy._

Wait, what?

I need to get home. Now.

I reach my house in record time. I'm wheezing and totally out of breath but I don't care. At least I'm away from him. I'm about to ring the doorbell when my door flies open and I'm yanked inside.

"Kyle, where were you! Your father and I have been worried sick! You were supposed to come home from Stan's at eleven! Don't you realize you could have been killed out there!" My mother shrieks into my ear. I simply wait for her to finish.

"Well mom, I was walking home from Stan's and I passed out. Luckily my good friend, Eric, found me and let me rest at his house."

My mom's large green eyes watch me for a minute to see if I'm lying. Once she her peepers decide I'm not fibbing, she rushes over to squash me in a giant bear hug.

"Oh my poor bubalah! I should've picked you up from Stan's instead of making you walk! Didn't I tell you to take your Insulin before leaving the house! And another thing..." She stops her babbling for a moment to think about something.

"Did you say Eric Cartman helped you, bubbe?" she asks, cautiously.

"Um, yes..." I say. I can already tell where this is going.

"Okay well..." She looks dazed, but she's not going crazy. Whew. "Kyle, you need to go upstairs and do your homework now. I have some business to take care of." She says, disrupting my thoughts.

"But I-"

"Don't disobey me, Kyle!" She snapped.

I reluctantly trudge up to my room. I notice a small pile of envelopes on my desk. It's Saturday, so the mail had been delivered yesterday. I toss around a couple of flyers until I see a letter with Cartman's name on it.

I look at the white square again. It says Eric T. Cartman printed neatly in New Times Roman on the front. I excitedly rip open the small, white square. When I saw the contents my stomach plummeted. It was only a birthday invitation.

A birthday invitation. Cartman's birthday. I quickly grab a pad of graph paper and a led pencil, and for the next two hours I think of ways to make Eric Cartman mine, and mine alone.

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><p>"Kyle!" My mom yells from the kitchen. "Your little friend is on the phone."<p>

I cringe and snatch the house phone off its base. "Hello?" I say, cautiously. I'm not expecting any calls, and usually my friends call me on my cell phone.

"Kyle, what the fuck! Where have you been?"

I sigh, hearing my super best friend's voice shriek through my receiver.

"Stan, relax. I'm fine."

"Fine. Fine?" Stan is far past pissed, I can tell. "Dude, I called your house yesterday night and your mom said you hadn't come home and then I call Kenny and he says he saw you Cartman carry you to his place!"

Ah fuck. I forgot Kenny lived across the street from Cartman.

"Stan, I was fine. He didn't do anything wrong, he saved me actually." I heard him grumbling profanities on the other line. "Dude, chill. I'm fine."

Stan seemed to consider this for a moment.

"Whatever man." He finally said. "Are you going to Cartman's birthday party tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" I glance at my invitation again. "It's tomorrow?"

"Yeah, didn't you check your invitation?"

I open the colourful card again. Sure enough the date his addressed for the day after today.

"Well, I guess I'm going. I have nowhere else to be." Not that I wanted to go anywhere else, for on the day of the party, Cartman would become mine.

"Think you'll hook with someone? I heard Bebe has a crush on you."

I sigh, suddenly worn out. Bebe Stevens has always had a crush on someone. She is notorious for her slutty ways throughout our school. She even makes a special post on Facebook every week entitled _'Boyfriend Of The Week'_. Ick.

"No." I say finally answering Stan. "I don't think so

After talking about useless school stuff, I make up an excuse involving homework and say goodbye to Stan.

As I lie down on my bed, I glance at the framed picture of my favorite brunet boy.

Bebe is so not my type. I'm more into cunning neo-Nazis.

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><p><em>About that "making the chapters longer" thing. Yeah, well, I lied.<em>

**•Breathlessly•**


	4. Jack's a Friend

_**A/N:** I own the plot. Nothing else._

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><p><strong>4-Jack's a Friend<strong>

The front door closes with a thud.

"Snookums, mommy's home!" A figure in a tight red miniskirt and matching tube top, strolls into the house. Great. My mom got tired of demeaning herself  
>early today. It's only eleven o'clock, she usually gets home by two.<p>

I'm so disgusted I don't even look at her. "Great, now go make me a sandwich. Easy on the mayo." I hear her high heels clomp on our hardwood floor and I figure she has gone to make my snack. I'm wrong. She walks in front of my television and frowns.

"Eric, hunny, Mommy's really exhausted. Maybe you should make your own sandwich." I glare at her, taken aback. My mom never asks me to do anything. Ever.

"Mom," I start, patiently. "Get your whore ass in the kitchen and make my fucking sandwich." She stumbles back into the television obviously startled by my naughty language.

I'm starting to get annoyed. "And can you move from in front of my TV?" She looks like she's going to retaliate, but instead she closes her mouth and stomps into the kitchen.

I grin and change the channel. It feels good to win.

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><p>The first person to come was Butters. I wasn't surprised. He's such a fag, I can tell he has the hots for me.<p>

"Hiya Eric, I, uh, brought you a present!" He hands me a small box rapped in a shiny, blue wrapping paper.

"Oh, gosh, thanks Butters!" I say, sarcastically. "Now get your gay ass inside before I take your present and lock you out."

I had actually planned to do this when I first gave Butters his invitation, but I decided against it. I guess I have a conscious after all.

"Well, alrighty then." He shakes his blonde head like a dog and enters.

I never see or hear from him for the rest of the night.

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><p>"Hey fat ass, we're running low on booze!"<p>

I turn to see a drunken Kenny McCormick, dancing on top of my coffee table. A bottle of Jack Daniel's is in one of his hands and Ketel One is in the other.

I roll my eyes and take the Ketel One bottle. "Kenny, it's only a half an hour into the party and your wasted already?" I snort in the young blonde's face.

Kenny takes a swig of his whiskey. "C'mon birthday boy," He says, with his speech slurred. "Have some. Jack is your friend!" He nudges the bottle towards me, but I shove it back to him.

"Get your drunk, scrawny, white-trash ass off of my grandma's coffee table." Kenny shrugs defensively and clumsily steps off of the table. "The more for me." He muttered before stumbling behind Bebe's tight, leather clad ass.

I surveyed my birthday party. Stan and his hippie, know-it-all, girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger are making out in my plush sofa. Craig, Clyde and Token are playing Twister. Gaywads.

I turn to my left to catch Bebe slapping Kenny for groping her boob. I also see Tweek sitting in a folding chair, eating Barbecue potato chips. Butters is...well, who cares where that cock sucker is.

All I keep thinking is I don't see the Jew anywhere. Somewhere in the back of my head I'm thinking, '_who cares if he came or not, he's an asswipe_!' But I have to find him, I have to know if he came.

The doorbell rings. Before I can get to the door Kenny opens it to about eleven more jocks and their girlfriends. Either I'm popular or they heard about the free liquor.

And then I see him. Standing at the doorway.

He's wearing a plaid shirt that's the same emerald color as his eyes with some tight fitting skinny jeans. I march over to the door.

Kenny is still standing with him, talking about something seemingly important. I hear Kenny greeting me, ("_Hey Cartman! Guess who decided to join the par-taay!_") but I don't care. I'm focused on Kyle.

"It's just like you to show up thirty minutes late Kyle. I was starting to think you were a no-show." He simply smirked and leaned over to my right ear.

"Cartman," He whispered. "I wouldn't miss this for the world." Then he sauntered off into my house.

I have a feeling this is going to be a fun night.

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><p><em>Reviews will be treated as golden unicorns.<em>

•**Breathlessly•**


	5. Forty Minutes Or Less

_**A/N: **(Insert regular speech where Authoress goes on about how she doesn't own shit here)_

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><p><strong>5-Forty Minutes Or Less<strong>

Forty minutes.

I have forty minutes before my mom summons me home.

I have forty minutes to bag the Nazi.

"Damn Kyle, what's up your ass?" I sigh as a familiar voice addresses me.

_Well Stan, I'm attracted to a racist, egotistical, insensitive bastard who hates my guts. Oh, and I can't tell you, my best friend, anything about this because your stomach won't be able to handle it. You're like a fucking geyser._

"I'm fine." I mumble, taking a sip of my ginger ale. I notice it's flat and wince.

Stan looks at me and squints his expressive blue eyes. "That's a load of crap Kyle." His eyes shift towards my now worthless soda. "You sure are holding that glass pretty tight."

I glance at the cup in my hand. It's partially covered by my sweaty palm. As I release my grip, my hand instantaneously reverts from a pale white to its original color.

Unable to explain myself I stumble over my words. "It's...it's nothing." Stan looks like he's about to ask more gruelling questions when his girlfriend, Wendy, calls him over. They start making out immediately. Good.

With Stan distracted, playing tonsil hockey with Wendy, I have more time to plan for Cartman's birthday surprise.

At first I was going to just seduce him. Just wait until everybody left, lead him to his room and fuck 'till the sun came up but then I realized if Cartman didn't feel the same that would be rape. So I settled on the next best thing.

Get drunk and see what happens.

I lock myself in Cartman's guest bathroom.

I pray to Moses that my plan works, and proceed to tentatively pour a bottle of Ketel One down my throat. I feel shivers running through my spine as I chug the bottle of vodka. After five minutes I start to feel a buzz and I feel slightly lightheaded.

Perfect.

I scurry out of the bathroom with the half empty bottle of Ketel One in tow. Time for the games to begin.

Waiting outside the door is Jimmy Vulmar. I smile dumbly and greet my old friend.

"Heeey you!" I grin widely, showing the handicap all my teeth.

Jimmy winces in disgust. "K-k-k-Kyle, y-you r-r-reek, dude."

I laugh at the stuttering teen and take a swig of vodka. "Jimmy, you're so funny!" I then stumble off in search of Cartman.

In my drunken haze, I finally locate the brunet talking to Tweek near by the refreshments.

"Cartman!" I shriek, giggling. Why was did his name sound so funny?

"What do you want, you stupid, Jew." He sighs. As he turns around, he almost seems surprised to see the smart ass Jew totally hammered.

"What the fuck Kyle! Are you...wasted?"

I grin crookedly. "Damn right I'm wasted, you sexy beast." Wait, what? I didn't mean to say that! My mouth forms the shape of a perfect 'O'. I'm amazed at my own stupidity.

Cartman is equally shocked. "What did you just call me?" He says, almost inaudibly.

"I said, sexy ass beast!" The logical part of me cringed, while the drunken part of me gets lost in Cartman's big, brown eyes.

Cartman shakes his head in disbelief. "Kyle you're drenched," He says, eyeing my shirt which had half a bottle of vodka on it. "You need to come wipe off." He starts walking off to his guest bathroom, motioning for me to follow.

As soon as I enter the bathroom, I lock the door behind me and wink at Cartman, flirtatiously.

"Hey there hot shot. What's up? What's popping?" I start giggling uncontrollably at my own lameness.

"Kyle shut the fuck up; I'm trying to be nice to you. Making a complete fool of yourself isn't going to help." He walks over to a pearl coloured linen closet and selects a yellow washcloth with a blue duck stitched in the middle. He dampens it under the faucet and hands it to me.

"Wipe." He tells me in a commanding voice. Obediently, I rub the cloth over my sweaty face and neck.

He's silent for a bit, so I decide to make a move.

"You know what would be so super awesome right now?" I say, my speech slurred.

"What?" Cartman lifts his head from his lap, where it has been situated for the past five minutes.

"If we just started making out, right here, right now. It would be so hot."

Cartman jumps up in record time. His jaw, slack, his hazel eyes, bright and filled with confusion.

"W-what..?" He's trembling, that's how terrified he is. I've never seen Cartman at a loss for words before. It's a cute look on him.

"C'mon Cartman."I say, walking towards him. "You know that would be so fucking hot. My lips brushing against yours, your hands running through my soft, curly hair and most importantly our hard-ons banging into each other. Again, and again, and again."

Cartman lets out a low groan, and closes his eyes.

He finally opens and clears his throat. "No butt sex though, 'cause that would be freaking gay."

"Of course." I said, stepping forward and closing the space between us.

Suddenly time stopped. Nothing mattered other than Cartman and I.

Us.

Hungrily looking into each other's eyes, the lust prominent in his chocolate pair as it was in my emerald. The world started moving underneath us and we were somehow stuck in this moment. Together.

Then I pressed my lips against his.

And time begun.

As he worked his rough tongue into my mouth he gripped at my red curls, stroking and caressing them. I hooked my skinny arms around his neck pulling him even closer. My scenes are shifting to overdrive. The scent of his musky cologne was intoxicatingly beautiful.

Grabbing hold of my petite frame, Cartman pushes me against the wall, rubbing his crotch against mine, in a delightful circular motion. He even slams against me and every so often I moaned out pleasure, making the big boned boy even harder.

"Damn, Cartman I can feel you through your pants." I say, gripping his erect cock through his thin pants.

"Shut...up...Jew..." He responded, panting. He slammed his crotch against mines even harder, causing the wall to vibrate.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

"Hello? Is anybody in there?"

It was Butters' voice.

Cartman and I quickly distanced ourselves from each other. As I jump away, I scrap my ankle on a cream coloured cupboard.

Once Butters' voice is gone, I look over at Cartman. His face is red, his hair is dishevelled and he's completely out of breath.

I walk towards him, give him my sweetest smile and lean towards his ear, the same one I whispered in earlier today.

"Happy birthday, Eric." I whisper seductively before walking towards the door. Before turning the knob, I turn back around to face him.

"Oh, and I hope you liked you present." I say, winking.

Glancing my watch, I notice it's exactly forty minutes after the hour.

Excellent.

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><p><em>For those of you that are wondering there will be some more steamy scenes with Kyle and Cartman.<em>

_How'd I do? Review are treated as chocolate unicorns._

_Also, I love smutty Kyman. Mmm, scrudeliumshous (Scrumcious+Delicious, duhh.)_

**•Breathlessly•**


	6. Faggy Jew Pixie Dust

_**A/N:** I don't own.._

_A chapter over a thousand words? It's a miracle!_

_This chapter is inspired by 'A Surprise in the Closet' by Soul Flash. Cartman in Kyle's closet...**yummy**..._

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><p><strong>6-Faggy Jew Pixie Dust<strong>

_Oh, and I hope you liked your present._

I awake to the shining sun and chirping birds. The weather obviously doesn't know how fucked up I feel right now.

As I open my eyes and take in the golden sunshine around me, my head starts to throb manically, as if it was angry at me for drinking anything at all. Clearly, hangovers have nothing to do with the amount of alcohol consumed.

_Oh, and I hope you liked your present._

Groaning, I stumble to my bathroom, and proceed to brush my teeth.

Scrub. _Oh, and I hope you liked your present_. Scrub.

I hear a choking noise from my bathtub. I pulled back the curtains angrily. Whatever was down there, I sure wasn't cleaning It up. My whore of a mother would see to that, the bitch. But no. I had to unveil the awful sight. My goddamn mother, a chubby blonde, and… and… a daywalker?

"AY! The fuck is this?" I scream. My voice makes an echo in the small, hollow room.

My mom opens her eyes and groans as soon as she sees the sleep impinging daylight.

"Eric, sweetie, turn off the light", she croaks at me. Her eyelids are smeared with gold eye shadow.

I roll my eyes and cross my arms.

"Why are you such a dirty ass slut?"

_Oh, and I hope you liked your present._

"Why don't you get a real job instead of being a fuck-up?" I continue. "Have you ever even had a real job? No! You're always busy getting fucking STDs! I've dealt with this for my whole damn life but now you've crossed the line."

She frowns at me. "What are you talking about, snookums?"

I glare at her in disbelief. Is she that stupid?

"What am I talking about? WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT! You brought a fucking ginger asshole in here!"

"But Eric, hunny-"

I turn away from her. I'm fucking disgusted. She had sex with a ginger. A freaking ginger.

"I am ashamed to call you my mother. You fucking DISGUST me." I spit at her, storming out of the house.

_Oh, and I hope you liked your present._

Just another day in the life of Eric Cartman.

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><p>"So let me get this straight." Kenny pours low-fat cream into his coffee. "Your mom comes home every night for the past eight years with guys and it doesn't bother you." He stares at me intensely. "But then, when he comes home with a ginger, you snap?"<p>

I narrow my eyes at my blonde friend. "No, but that soulless demon did help me put my mom in her place."

He just rolls his eyes at this. "Cartman, you're so full of crap. There's got to be something else to this. Maybe the guy reminded you of someone?" he led suggestively, his eyebrow raised.

_Oh, and I hope you liked your present._

I cringe. Why the fuck did I have to remember that now?

Across the small, wooden table, Kenny smirks knowingly at me. He's the only person that can derail my train of thought, the only one who can tamper with my usually cunning mind. The bastard.

Well, him and someone else.

_Oh, and I hope you liked your present._

"What if it did remind me of someone? What's it to a little whore like you, Kenny?" I snap.

Kenny's smirk turns into a full blown grin. "And who might that be?" he quipped, ignoring me.

Why is this so fucking hard? This is Kenny! I've told him every single thing that's ever happened to me for the last eight years, and this shouldn't be any god damned different.

"Atmybirthdayparty, meandKylemadeout." I blurted out in one breath. God knows I'm not risking any of these coffee drinking hicks hearing about me and Kyle.

If Kenny smiles any wider, I'm pretty sure his cheeks will burst. "Eh, what was that, Eric?" He says, cupping his hand around his ear.

I stand up from the table and angrily grab the poor boy's collar. "This isn't funny you asswipe. I fucking kissed Kyle!" He just kept on smiling. "Are you sure you fucking kissed him or kissed him while fucking?" I growled at him and he put his hands up, guarding his pale face.

"Whoa dude, chill. I was just joking." He said, unapologetically.

Sighing, I let go of his collar and sat back down in my seat. People gawked at the sudden disturbance. I snort to myself. Like I give a fuck. Kenny sits down and smoothes out his collar that I have just wrinkled.

"Now Cartman," He said sipping his coffee. "You kissed Kyle and you flipped out on your mom because she fucked some guy that reminded you of Kyle?" His smirk is turning from amused to taunting every passing minute. He's fucking laughing at me, that little bitch.

I abruptly stand, knocking over my Americano.

"Since you're going to be such a cock sucker, I'll just leave you to sip your girly ass latte." I say, marching towards the glass door.

"Later fatass." The frail boy says, eyeing the mess I made on the antique table.

As I exit the café the cold winter air hits my face. Even when the sun is shining, it's still cold as fuck.

_Oh, and I hope you liked your present._

His voice rings in my ears, filling and replacing every empty space in my thoughts.

_Oh,and I hope you liked your present._

His high pitched voice sends shivers down my body, running through my spine and stopping down south.

_Oh, and I hope you liked your present._

I need to stop this. I need to get rid of any Jew magic he's using to take over my thoughts.

When I make finally make it over to the Broflovski's house I decide against knocking on the front door. Mrs. Broflovski has learned to tolerate me over the years, but I don't want to provoke her, and if it turns out she's on her period or something, I don't want to be caught in the middle of that. Instead, I climb in through Kyle's window.

Inside it smells like latkes and Kyle's lavender scented room freshener. I take a deep breath and smile. I always used to tease him about how faggy he smelled.

I quickly remember why I'm here in the first place and start rummaging through Kyle's stuff. First I throw around piles of dirty clothes on the ground. You'd think with how anal the Jew is about school work, he'd keep his room a little more tidy. In fact, its so far from tidy that I can't even imagine that he lives here.

Once I find no trace of anything suspicious on the floor I stumble over to his closet and open the door. Nothing! No Jew spell books, Jew magic wands or, Jew pixie dust.

Then I hear a voice outside Kyle's door.

"Yeah mom, I'll do it later!"

I instantaneously freeze. Kyle is right outside. Not that I'm scared of him or anything, it's just that if he tells the guys at school that I snuck into his room they'll think I'm a fag.

Not that I care. 'Cause I fucking don't.

As if it were natural instinct, I jump into the redhead's closet. I should have just made a run for the window. I could have been home, eating my mom's awesome pot pie by now. Those latkes are making my stomach rumble, threatening to spill my Christian puke all over his Jew floor.

Kyle enters his room and sits down on his bed, with his iPod in his ears. He's probably listening to that lame Gersploosh album. That idiot is the only one of us guys that kept listening to that crap.

As Kyle danced around his room, occasionally singing along to the lyrics, he started to strip off his blue t-shirt.

I uncomfortably dart my eyes away as he changes. As I look around his closet I see a shoebox labelled 'Cartman'.

This must be it. This must be where he keeps all his mystical magic shit. I open the box and retrieve a sheet of lined paper with a photo attached.

I curse silently under my breath. Why does it have to be so dark in here, I can't even see!

Luckily, Kyle enters his adjoining bathroom and I have a chance to escape. I slowly turn the brass doorknob clockwise and free myself from the stuffy closet. As I'm about to exit through the window I glance at the paper in my hand.

Holy shit.

It's a picture of me with my shirt off. I'm lifting weights at the gym that just opened by my house. My brown hair is falling in my face and my hazel eyes are twinkling with determination.

Damn, I almost forgot how hot I am.

But why would Kyle have this picture? From the angle it's at from, I can tell it's was taken in a very stalkerazzi fashion. Apparently, there was some green thing in front of the lens, so maybe Kyle ducked behind a bush to take the picture.

The idea of Kyle stalking me and taking pictures of me from behind a bush arouses me to no end.

And right on cue, he decides to come out of the bathroom. If he had only given me a second to gather my thoughts, I could've been out of his way. He just always has to make  
>everything hard.<p>

In both ways of course.

"What the fuck are you doing in my room, Cartman?" Kyle snaps, panic painted across his face.

There he is in all his glory.

His long, red locks are messily strewn against his face. His bright eyes glimmered in his dim room light. He nervously licked his pink, kissable lips.

I shake my head lightly and give myself a mental slap. I can't let his faggy witchcraft get to me.

Kyle's eyes travel towards his closet and back to me. "I asked you a question, fatass. What were you doing in my closet?" He says, blocking my only convenient exit, which was his window.

I give him my dirtiest scowl. "Shut up you filthy daywalker. I'm going to be asking the questions around here."

His expression seemed to shift a million times a second. Anger, frustration, curiosity, doubt. They flew across his features like butterflies. Oh goddamn it, why did that sound so faggy. Fuck. Eventually, he rested on amusement tinged with vague anger.

Let the games begin.

"Kyle, why don't you take a seat?" I say, gesturing towards his bed.

He snorts and crosses his arms. "In case you've forgotten, this is my room. I can do whatever I want."

"Why don't you take a seat right over there?"

"You're not Chris Hansen; that stuff's just bullshit and you know it."

Annoyed, I tackle him onto the plush cotton comforters that lay messily across his Temperpedic mattress. I snatch his wrists and pin them down onto his bed, where they sunk in satisfactorily, trapping us both in its foam. I give Kyle a taunting smirk.

"How's that for Chris Hansen?" I whisper, climbing off of the bed.

Kyle looks flustered, and unaccountably pissed. His face is redder than his hair and breathing heavily. God, he really is a bitch, to get tired so quickly. One tackle and he's out of breath? Jesus, what a pussy.

"Now Kyle, care to explain this to me?" I say, presenting him the picture of me.

He stares and stares at the paper attempting to speak, and fails. Miserably. He looks like a fish, his mouth is opening and closing so rapidly.

I have finally shut him up. It's about fucking time.

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><p><em>Just in case you're lost, 'Oh, and I hope you liked your present' is what Kyle said to Cartman after he kissed him, and now that's all he hears in his thoughts. Sweet, huh?<em>

**•Breathlessly•**

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><p><strong>Editor's Note:<strong> _You guys, This chapter is going to lead to stuff that will blow your mind like mental dynamite, but listen here. If there are spelling problems, or weird wording, or anything else you find questionable, Breathlessly probably didn't write it. You don't like it, come talk to me. It's possible that this chapter is much longer now; I have no idea, I haven't been counting. ANYWHO: come talk to me if you like my stuff, and who knows, I might edit your stuff too. If you offer me chocolate. I love chocolate. You know it has one tenth of the effect of heroine on the brain? Give. Chocolate. And reviews, because you are all such nice, nice readers that just loveeee to read Kyman. :D_

_No kidding, we love you guys._

_Actually, just send me stories. Chocolate isn't that important. (or is it…?)_

**-NightmareMyLove**


	7. Pulchritudinous

_**A/N:** I can't believe this story might actually be off of hiatus._

_I don't own anything._

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><p><strong>7- Pulchritudinous<strong>

_Eric Cartman- n. Sadistic, racist, prick who ruins everything, screws with everyone, and brings his train of terror everywhere._

In other words Eric Cartman is a person that people with common sense would stay away from.

After sixteen years of putting up with his shit, I can safely say, I've got no common sense whatsoever.

After everything he's put me through, I somehow forgive him. It's almost as if he's my personal band-aid. Just one word, one touch, and the anger has numbed. It's still there, but it's gone for a while.

Once I'd hit the ninth grade, I started seeing Cartman in a new light.

He wasn't as much of an asshole anymore, he was just misunderstood. Living in a town where you're mom is the town slut must be hard. Living in a town where you're mom is the town slut and nobody likes you must be even harder.

I noticed a decrease in his weight. He was steadily becoming more and more physically appealing. For the first time I saw behind all the evil that was Eric Cartman. And it was beautiful.

That's the only reason I had the pictures, to preserve his astonishing beauty before he went out and ruined it. I am certainly not a stalker. Especially not Cartman's stalker. Now that would be borderline creepy.

"Well Kahl, I can stand here all day waiting for you to make up an alibi or you can just tell me the truth." Cartman says, with a bored expression upon his face.

The truth.

What was the truth?

You're goddamn beautiful?  
>Err...no, that wouldn't work.<p>

Looks like the best way to go here is denial.

"What picture?" I say calmly. I watch as Cartman's expression shifts slowly from boredom to frustration. I can tell he isn't going to take no for an answer today.

C'mon Kyle. Inhale through the nose, exhale out the mouth. You can do this. He's the same asswipe he's always been.

Struggling to keep my breathing slow and steady, I look Cartman in the eyes.

"Cartman, I don't know what trick you're trying to pull but it's a definitely not working. Planting a picture in my room?" I shake my head in disgust. "What are we eight?"

Cartman was definitely not anticipating that answer. He's completely flabbergasted, which is pretty rare for him. He slowly backs away from me, towards the window.

"If you think I would walk around putting pictures of myself in your room, you need to get your motherfucking head checked."

C'mon Kyle, keep it together. Keep cool.

"What box?" I ask.

Cartman is suddenly a mere two inches away from my face. His face has turned red and I can hear his heart beat racing. Shit. Now I've done it.

"What box? Kahl, I'm not an idiot! I am not a fucking idiot!" He grabs me by my hair and drags me towards my closet. Wincing, I push his sweaty palms off me. He starts looking through my closet.

"What box, huh Kahl? This motherfucking box!" He says, dragging out a small, cardboard box. On the side of the box, Cartman's name is written in big bubble letters

Cartman turns pale as everything flies out of the box. Two years worth of love poems, pictures, and journals pertaining to the infamous fatass Nazi. "You are a sick ass pervert." He whispers, while questionably quivering.

My heart breaks into a million little pieces as those words leave his mouth. I should be used to shit like this but I'm not. He just has that effect on me.

"First you have the nerve to rape me in my own house on my birthday, and now you stalk me?" He continues, backing away from my lifeless form, towards the open window. "I have three words for you dude. Get a life."

After those three cold words left Cartman's mouth, a dam broke inside me and I saw red. I grab Cartman's arm and spin him around, facing me.

"You of all people telling me to get a life?" I snarl at the brunet boy. "Ha. That's almost laughable."

Cartman made a disgusted face and brushed my hand off of his arm. "Hands off Broflovski. You can look, you can take covert pictures, but you can't touch."

I bark out a laugh. "Ha! As of anyone would ever touch you! You're an inconsiderate, sadistic fatass! You probably touch yourself thinking about dead puppies. Or maybe your whore of a mother does it for you!"

I couldn't control what I was saying. It was as if Cartman had broken my barrier between what's pushing the line and what isn't.

Suddenly, I was on my carpet floor with the fatass on top of me. His eyes were full of hate and disgust.

You know this is almost a fantasy of mine- being pinned down to the floor with Cartman on top of me. If only I wasn't so pissed off at the fat fuck, I might of tried to take advantage of the glorious position.

"Cartman, get your fat ass off of me, you gay fuck." I say, purposefully spitting in his face.

He looks thoughtful for a moment before he throws a punch at my face.

"AHH! What the fuck? CARTMAN!" I holler, holding my eye."

He gets off of me, while smoothing out the creases in his clothes. "Just think of it as payback for the pictures." He said, walking back towards my window. Before he flees, he stops halfway out the window, turning his head to face me.

"And Kahl?"

"...Yeah?"

"I was never here." And with that last remark, he fled from my room, out my window, into the chilly night.

I collapse on my bed, my head throbbing. Yeah, I know. Common sense is Pig Latin to me.


	8. Himalayan Unicorns

_**A/N:** After this you can't complain about short chapters. Cartman's POV, BTW. _

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><p><strong>8- Himalayan Unicorns<strong>

You think you know somebody. You assume there's nothing there. There isn't supposed to be anything there.

What if we lived without emotions? We wouldn't use them to control our decisions. That'd be cool.

Fuck feelings. Fuck life. I just things to be the way they were. I hate change.  
><em><br>Life sucks, and then you die.  
><em>  
>I hate the little things I obsess over. Like how much his eyes sparkle like emeralds. <em>Fucking emeralds.<br>_  
>Fuck society. I'll live with the unicorns in the Himalayas.<p>

Love sucks, because with love comes change. I hate change. _There was never supposed to be anything there._


	9. Sincere Deception

_**A/N: **__I don't own anything._

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><p><strong>9-Sincere Deception <strong>

Stan slams his palms down hard against the lunch table.

"I've had it! You two are ridiculous! **THIS **is ridiculous!" He yells. I continue to eat my lunch, avoiding Stan's eyes.

Cartman and I haven't talked to each other for an entire month.

Well, I suppose that isn't exactly true. We've talked. Fought would actually be the appropriate word.

"You guys act as if you don't even know each other. Avoiding one another at all costs. And when you do somehow come in contact with the other, you fight over dumb ass shit!" Stan takes sip from his water bottle, giving Kenny a chance to put in his two cents.

"Seriously dude, Stan's right. I kinda liked it better when you guys could actually stand being around each other. Such a shame. All that sexual tension over the years going to waste, you guys woulda' some serious fun in the sack."

"Kenny! Not helping!"

Kenny shrugs, wearing a smug grin. "C'mon Stanny boy, those two have been fighting for thirteen years. You can't tell me you'd be able to resist being fucked with thirteen years worth of lust!"

Stan shakes his head and directs his attention back to me. "I mean come on Kyle. Do you remember what you two were even fighting about just now?"

"We were fighting over French fries."

"What about the French fries?"

"...Whether they were fresh or not."

Stan crosses his arms and leans back in his seat with a smirk that said, _need I say more? _Cartman had been dragged out of the cafeteria by a disgruntled Mr. Mackey after he threw my French fries into my face. The whole thing had been so silly. Stan was right, _as usual_.

I take a deep breath and finally answer my raven haired friend. "Alright Stan. I...I'll talk to him. But I can't guarantee anything."

Stan seems pleased with himself. "You won't be sorry Kyle." He promises.

Before I can respond, Bebe, Wendy, and Red saunter over to our table. Red sits in the chair Cartman left behind and Wendy shares a seat with Stan. Bebe stands next to me expectantly.

"Hi'ya Kyle." She says, waving shyly.

"Um...Hi Bebe, can I help you?" I say while uncomfortably fidgeting in my seat.

"Well Kyle, I was hoping I could sit down with you." Bebe flutters her coal black eyelashes.

I look around confusedly. "But Bebe, there aren't any chairs left."

Bebe and the other two girls giggle at my naivety. "I know that, I just...Wanted to sit on your lap."

I blink, perplexed. Bebe inches closer and I can smell her strawberry-scented shampoo. It's absolutely nauseating.

I quickly jump out of my seat, as if it were on fire. "Uh...Sorry Bebe, I uh...gotta do something." I mumble, before walking out of the cafeteria.

I had never felt so weird before. I was gay but I wasn't disgusted by Bebe because she was a girl. I was disgusted because she wasn't Cartman. As a matter of fact, it felt as if I were betraying Cartman by even thinking of letting her sit on me.

As I round the corner, not watching in front of me, I collide into a person that smelled faintly of Cheesy Poofs. I didn't even have to look up.

I knew it was him.

He pushes me aside. "Stupid clumsy bitch." He mumbles, walking away as I remember what I promised Stan.

"Cartman!" I know he hears me loud and clear, but he decides to just walk faster. "Cartman! Wait!" I scream it louder this time. No response. Enraged, I run after him and grab his arm before he can run away.

"Cartman, I called you." _Great job Kyle. Remain calm._

The brunet boy snickers. "I heard you. I was just trying to remain true to our previous agreement." When I look at him with a confused glare he goes on. "You know they'll arrest you for not staying a certain distance away you know."

I let out a low growl. "Cartman, get it through your thick, numb skull. I'm not your fucking stalker!"

"Whatever." He pulls out a Red Bull energy drink and takes a big gulp. "What did you have to tell me?"

For a moment, I forget all about Stan. "What?"

"You were trying to tell me something, weren't you Jew fag? If not this is a big-"

"Yeah, yeah." I interrupt, trying to avoid another fight. "I wanted to talk about the last time...and the pictures...and notes."

Cartman's eyes widen, making him resemble a deer caught in headlights. "What? I thought we were never talking about this again Kahl?"

"And calling me a stalker isn't referring to it at all." I say, rolling my eyes. "But anyways, Cartman I know that I looked really bad having that box full of...you. But it really, _truly_ wasn't mine. It was Amanda Tucker's."

Cartman raises an eyebrow. "Amanda...Tucker? Craig's sister?"

"Yeah, I saw her about a month ago at the skating rink. She was excited to see me because I was your friend. She started telling me about how she had this humungous crush on you and that she had a shoebox dedicated to you." I stick out my tongue in mock disgust. "She told me that Craig had broken their parents' wedding china, and that his punishment was to clean the house top to bottom. She gave me the box to hide, out of fear that Craig would find it and make fun of her."

"So why do you still have the box?"

_Yeah why do you still have the box Kyle? Never thought of that did you!_

"Um, well...She forgot it."

I knew it was very risky telling Cartman the box was Amanda's, partially because the Tucker family never outwardly show any signs of admiration towards anybody, never mind telling someone they hardly know their deepest, darkest secrets. But it was also risky because Cartman was the master of lying and deception. If he saw even one little flaw in my story, he would call me out on it.

For what seemed to be forever, we just stood there. Cartman's stare was intense, studying me and seemingly searching my face for a sign of a lie. For a little bit, I thought Cartman actually bought the story. But then the unexpected happened.

Cartman smiled.

Not a devious smile either. It was a real smile full of delight and amusement, yet, I have never seen anything so sinister.

He walks closer to me and grabs my hand. I immediately jerk it away. "Kyle, oh naive, golden-hearted Kyle. You wouldn't be able to lie if your life depended on it." I try to retaliate, but Cartman presses his palm against my mouth.

"Shh. Not a single word."

I impatiently wait for Cartman to remove his hand. When he finally does, I wipe my mouth off on my sleeve. I'm so preoccupied with wiping the asshole's germs away, that I hardly notice the neo-Nazi moving his lips dangerously close to my ear.

"Meet me at my house after school. I have something to show you." He says before he walks away, turning around the corner.

Guess I know what I'm doing tonight.

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><p><em>My dear, sweet Kylie. You have no <em>_**idea**__ what you're in for tonight. _

_Review. Like, now._

•**Breathlessly•**


	10. Bebe's Black Book

_**A/N: **__I don't own anything. _

_Matt and Trey are seriously shipping Kyman this season. Any Style fans want to comment on the topic?_

_Sorry for the shortness of this chapter._

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><em><em>

**10-Bebe's Black Book**

The school day wouldn't end fast enough. The classroom smelled of KFC. Ms. Vanderwaal, our AP English teacher was discreetly eating chicken wings and flipping through an erotic novel. Fat bitch.

I don't know why I'm so excited to see Kyle. It's as if I'm not disgusted by his presence. As if I actually want him in my house. _Yeah right. The hell I want that stinky, no good kike anywhere near my house. I should just text him right now and cancel._ I reach into my pocket for my iPhone and I suddenly put it back, deciding against giving up a chance to prank Kyle or something. He's so gullible. I suddenly feel a tap on my shoulder.

I turn around to face Bebe Stevens. She has her arms crossed and is staring me down with a hostile frown. "What did you do to him?" She says, quickly glancing at Kyle who has his head down in concentration.

"Who?" I answer, knowing exactly who she was speaking of.

Bebe's scowl deepens as she lets out a deep sigh. "Cartman stop playing games with me goddammit! You know I'm talking about Kyle! What twisted and maniacal lie did you tell about me?"

"I don't need to lie about you Bebe; I'd just pull out your fuck log."

Bebe looks away from my face and directs her eyes towards her paper. "Fuck you Cartman." She mumbles, almost inaudibly.

"Don't you think we've done enough fucking?

At the beginning of the year, Bebe had been on a bad boy kick, and she was after the baddest of them all. After she drooled all over me for a week, I agreed to satisfy her slutty needs for one night if she didn't tell anyone. The last thing I need is people knowing I fucked the school slut. The only thing was, after we did our thing she promptly moved on to Bridon Gueermo, who had been suspended five times, and I almost felt sorry she was gone. But the feeling was gone after I deemed the thought preposterous and got drunk.

Bebe looks up at me and rolls her eyes. "Fuck off Cartman. As if I'd go anywhere near your fat ass again."

For some reason, as I look at Bebe, with her wavy, gold spun hair and expressive hazel eyes, I feel enraged. As if she actually managed to hurt my feelings.

I growl under my breath and stare coldly at Bebe. "Good, I wouldn't want to catch your nasty ass crabs." Bebe recoils as if I'd slapped her. Good.

I glance towards the clock again. Ten minutes left. _God damn it._

* * *

><p>Finally the bell rings and Vanderwaal reluctantly takes her hand out of her granny panties to dismiss us. I walk towards my locker, carrying my heavy books and opening the combination in a huff. <em>Damn Bebe, with her stupid whoring ways.<em> I fling open my locker door and it makes a loud crash, alarming the students in the hallways.

"Err...Eric? You're kinda scaring me."

I turn around to see Butters looking at me with a frightened look on his face.

"Butters you're such a fag." I say rolling my eyes and closing my locker.

The blonde scampers up to me and strokes my arm.

"You're so funny Eric! Well, see ya' later buddy!" I watch the petite boy as he skips happily down the hallway.

Is it just me or is Butters acting more gay than usual?


End file.
